Victimology
by Appreciates Fine Labrats
Summary: The team finds themselves forced to watch as one of their own is brutally attacked and made example of - but to what end?
1. Chapter 1

**Finally got down to editing this thing and getting back into angsty fun with my favourite CSI! I wonder what horrors Greg will endure at my hands...you'll just have to wait and see..  
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><p>The first thing Catherine became aware of was the uncomfortably wet pressure on her cheek. The second thing she felt was the pounding in her head, and an alarming lack of memories of what had happened to her. Bit by bit she regained feeling in her face and body, which prompted a groan from her lips. She moved her head, eyes adjusting to a dusky gloom. She could just make out shadowy figures around her, some distressingly close and also beginning to stir. At the moment, however, she was more concerned with her own painfully sore face as she explored it with a tingling hand, eliciting another moan from her lips. Satisfied after a moment to find no permanent damage, she proceeded to bracing her forearms against the cold floor and lifting herself slightly, enough at least to get her face out of the sticky liquid. It smelled unmistakably of blood, and she again gingerly felt her still-throbbing head for its source. But she seemed to be fine, just sore and fuzzy. Her eyes traveled around again and she could now make out the shapes of four other people, amid more groans and confused murmurs.<p>

"Catherine?" came a low whisper from her right. She craned her neck and met Sara's gaze in the semi-darkness. Their reunion was short-lived and they both turned to their other companions. Catherine was less than surprised to see that Nick and Warrick were the other occupants of the cell, with Grissom at the far end, already exploring their surroundings. Nick and Warrick were sitting up, rubbing their heads slowly and looking around.

"Oh my...lord," breathed Catherine in shock as her gaze slipped past their immediate gloom and into the only lit part of the room. The dread in her voice must have communicated itself to the others, because they turned as one to look over their shoulders. Gasps of dismay echoed throughout the small space.

They were in one half of a room that was partitioned down the middle by thick vertical iron bars. The figure that had so captured their attention - lying spread-eagled on the other side of the barrier - was very familiar to them.

"Oh...Greg," breathed Sara in consternation.

Greg's arms and legs were stretched taut by shackles at his wrists and ankles that held him tightly fixed to the floor. A deep gash ran from his temple into his hair, leaving his hairline deep red from clotted blood. Blood had trickled down the side of his face.

"Greg?" called Nick tentatively, though he was clearly still unconscious. No response. He gave a louder shout, very mindful that they still didn't know who'd kidnapped them and whether they were close by. Greg didn't stir. Nick shared glances with the others, realizing that they couldn't do much more at the moment to help him.

"Whoever got us must have hit him real hard," winced Warrick finally as he moved his sore body to lean against one of the walls.

"Speaking of, does anyone remember what happened? I'm only getting some flashes back," inquired Nick, though his eyes stayed glued to Greg.

"I was in the parking garage of my building," said Sara. "Didn't see anything unusual, then someone came up behind me, slipped their arm around with a rag. It smelled like ether. I went down and woke up here."

"Ether is pretty old-school," muttered Warrick.

Catherine had managed to sit up during this time and into a moderately comfortable position, leaning up against one of the iron bars closest to her.

"God, I feel like a truck backed over me," she sighed, clutching her head with one hand.

"No kidding," agreed Nick. "All I remember is stepping out of my apartment. It was getting dark outside. A man was there — about five-nine and wearing a black baseball cap. He shoved a rag into my face and I went out like a light. I think it was ether, too."

"Is anyone injured?" asked Grissom, looking around intently.

They all shook their heads. Besides feeling quite stiff and lightheaded from aftereffects, they seemed to be in one shape.

"Why did they drug us but hit him?" ventured Warrick after a minute. He was voicing the question they'd all been thinking.

Grissom shook his head. He just didn't know. "We'll have to figure it out somehow. For now let's just try to recreate our last couple days. Maybe we can figure out who it was."

They divulged each of their stories, but all they could figure out was that they were all abducted in much the same way. Deserted areas with no witnesses worked to the kidnapper's advantage, but not theirs. None of them could recall being tailed recently, nor give a description of their attacker that rang any bells. They settled into an uncomfortable silence as they contemplated their situation and the unconscious body of their friend on the other side of the bars.

Sara's shaky voice spoke up eventually. "What do you think they want from us?"

Grissom set his lips. "I'm not sure, but I'm sure by now Brass has figured out that we're missing. It'll only be a matter of time, and in the meantime we're all resourceful; we'll find some way out of here."

"Doesn't seem like we're the ones in trouble," said Nick, and his eyes involuntarily flicked back to Greg's prone body.

"Whoever it is has been watching us for some time," Grissom mused out loud. "Observing our routines and habits."

"And he got us all within hours of each other," added Warrick. "We might have been lying in a van while he took everyone. He must have planned this very carefully."

"But to what end?" wondered Grissom.

"And why Greg's...special treatment?" sighed Catherine.

As was quickly becoming habit when the topic turned, their eyes snapped to Greg's prostrated form. He'd made no movement at all. If it hadn't been for the slight rising of his chest, they might have assumed he was already dead. The nasty cut on his temple still gleamed with unclotted blood.

"Do you think we should try to wake him up?" asked Sara.

"Better let him rest," said Nick, shaking his head. "Who knows what's in store for him."

Sara closed her eyes tightly, willing herself into calmness, but it wouldn't come. She nibbled at her nails worriedly, eventually opening her eyes and staring at the door. What would Greg wake up to? They didn't know, but from the way he was restrained, it couldn't be good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews everyone : They make my day.**

Grissom shook the metal bars once more, as if this time they would do something else but stand immovably. He had explored their side of the room multiple times, but though they were investigating everything, there just wasn't anything that they could find to help them. The walls were smooth hard concrete, with not a crack to exploit. The lone lightbulb illuminating Greg's side of the room was too high to reach, even if they could find a use for it.

"Bars go clean into the ground," said Nick from one side of the cell. He looked up in frustration at Warrick, who was crouched at the other end of the row of bars and nodding grimly in agreement. Having been recently installed, rust didn't even have time to erode the metal. Nick stood at the large old-fashioned padlock, running his hands over it, exploring it from all angles, but it was well made and wouldn't budge. They'd been confiscated of anything that could be used as a lockpick...except...Nick turned to stare at Grissom.

"Gris...Your glasses..."

How could they have missed it? Grissom silently berated himself for the oversight as he stood up hurriedly and removed his glasses, examining them and the lock with one glance. He wordlessly handed them to Nick, who snapped the arms off and bent towards the lock. He had inserted and begun twisting the two pieces inside the lock, completely blindly as the key face was on the outside, when he heard a chilling sound.

A quick hiss from Sara at his side gave him the presence of mind to snatch his hands away from the bars and hide the glasses deep in his pocket, just as the lone door to the room flew open. Nick pressed himself back into a gloomy corner as they all finally set eyes on their captor.

Belying the violence of the door's opening, it was a gaunt man that stepped into the light. His hair was coarse and dark and his appearance was of one who hadn't been in the company of others for some time. His eyes were sharp with intent, however, and they instantly sought out the group of CSIs huddled in the dark.

"Stay back, Gris," muttered Nick out of the corner of his mouth. If the man saw that he wasn't wearing his glasses…Grissom complied, shifting ever so slightly out of the light's influence. The man took a few more steps into the room, letting the door close behind him with a clang, then apparently finding everything to his satisfaction he turned his attention to Greg. He was still unconscious.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Warrick eventually, when the man had been staring at Greg for a few minutes without saying anything. His eyes were unfocused, as if they weren't really seeing Greg but something far away beyond him. Warrick's question brought the focus back to them sharply, but Warrick stared the man down resolutely.

"You'll understand after we're done," replied the man cryptically, finally.

"What's your name?" asked Nick, taking his chances since the man seemed so calm — unfortunately that same calmness made him very hard to judge. His reactions were tightly controlled and he seemed to be able to ignore incendiary comments.

The man ignored Nick and positioned himself next to Greg's upper body. The team held their breath as he studied Greg's face intently. Suddenly he reached out and slapped him sharply across the cheek. The unexpected noise was loud in the room, and the team were so surprised that they could only stare. Greg stirred briefly at the hit, but didn't rouse. The man slapped him once more, sending Greg's head rolling to the side, and this time Nick had enough presence of mind back to shout out — "Stop that!"

The man turned blithely, fixing Nick with a sharp glare. Nick swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure how to counter those dead orbs, but he was quickly distracted by something else. Greg was beginning to stir.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok so the angst really begins, yay. You'll notice I took a little element from both Numb3rs and NCIS, although it's interesting to note that the two shows portray it very differently. I've taken a little of both and done some research, but of course all mistakes are my own. Um um..hmm let me know what you think. Still some things I'm unhappy with but hopefully they're not too obvious.**

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><p>The first thing Greg felt was an uncomfortable cloudiness in his brain, as if it had been packed tightly in wool. The second thing he felt were the stabbing needles occupying the space behind his eyes. Ready to dismiss it as the mother of all hangovers, he fought away the haziness and grudgingly opened his eyes to slits. The sensations his body had been trying to send him took that moment to break through to his brain and alarm bells began shrieking. The back of his head — not to mention the front and sides — was throbbing and his arms and legs wouldn't move. He was seized with a sudden panic at the thought of being paralyzed and his eyes snapped open fully to take in the damage, though they weren't ready for such a sudden shift into action. The lone light bulb hanging over him was hardly bright, but it stabbed into the back of his brain painfully. His panic caught in his throat and before he could utter the cry behind his lips he was greeted by a nightmarish face, far too close for comfort. Greg froze, hands clenched into fists as his body struggled with the added adrenaline.<p>

"Welcome," whispered the man.

Greg wet his lips, trying to push out a sound, any sound, but he still couldn't make his fuzzy brain work properly. Fear had further paralyzed his senses. Instead of carefully observing his surroundings, his mind was being overwhelmed by fleeting stimuli he was unable to fixate on.

"It's okay, Greg."

The familiar voice managed to focus his scrambled wits, but it only sank him further into confusion. Greg shifted his head to the right and could hardly believe his eyes — was that really Grissom and the whole team peering out anxiously through the bars of a...jail cell? If the reality of his own situation — bound to the floor, a creepy man leering at him — wasn't so hard to believe, he'd think the concussion he undoubtedly had was giving him hallucinations.

Greg breathed shallowly through his nose, willing himself to calm down. His hands were still tightly clenched, nails digging into his palms, but then again the man was still there too. He was standing now and staring down at Greg with unholy interest. Greg shuddered slightly and instead focused on his teammates. It was hard to believe they were all here. Watching him...Of course that must be the man's objective. Did he want Greg to cry in front of them? He ground his teeth at the very idea. He would never...could never let the team see his naked fear. Above all, he'd never allow that. Greg swallowed his feelings and met Grissom's inquisitive gaze, face and jaw set in stubborn pride.

"What do you want from us?"

Greg tore his eyes away from Grissom's comforting face and stole a glance at the man hovering over him. One look into his eyes and Greg confirmed what the rest of the team couldn't — there wasn't an ounce of compassion or reason there. All he could see was a reflection of his scared face, mirrored back at him against an abyss. He chose not to deign him with a plea for mercy. What use was there? Greg knew perfectly well he wouldn't get out of this, and that was in evidence very much here. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.

When Grissom met Greg's eyes, he was jolted a little by the intensity of his will. Compassion bubbled up inside him, as well as pride for the way Greg was handling the situation. He'd closed his eyes, face set in a concentrated mask, the one Grissom recognized from working on cases together. All Grissom needed to know had been in that one glance. He sighed, understanding that Greg had made his choice. He would go with dignity, if it came to that. Grissom tightened his grip on the bars as he silently vowed not to let that happen, though for all his conviction he couldn't think of any way to prevent it.

"I want Greg here to suffer," came the belated reply, grated out through dry lips.

"Leave him alone! Please!" Sara cried out, shaking at the bars. It snapped everyone out of their trance, and they began making similar pleas.

The man ignored them all, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thin object wrapped in a handkerchief. He unwrapped it to reveal a syringe. Greg's heart constricted in fear. The man pulled out a small bottle from the same pocket and grinned viciously.

"Do you know what this is?" he growled, thrusting the bottle into Greg's face. Greg made no move, though his breathing was again threatening to get away from him. He repeated his mantra, jaw clenched. His nostrils expanded and contracted, white with suppressed energy.

"No?" The man stooped closer, waving the bottle under Greg's eyes. He refused to look at it, staring boldly into the man's eyes. At this they narrowed dangerously and he grabbed Greg's chin in a vice-like grip, jerking it down mercilessly until Greg was forced to stare at the label.

"Read it," hissed the man, breath hot in Greg's ear. Greg blinked, eyes adjusting to read the fine print. Its meaning finally penetrated and he moaned before he could stop himself.

"Out loud," shouted the man. Greg flinched, eyes returning to the ceiling. "3...3-quinuclidinyl benzilate," he whispered, the name passing his lips like a ghostly premonition.

"Louder."

"3-quinuclidinyl benzilate."

A gasp traveled throughout the room. The man gave a satisfied nod. "Also known as BZ gas."

"You bastard!" cried Nick vehemently.

"It's illegal! How did you-!"

Greg's face stilled and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He knew exactly what he was in for, and his entire body screamed. He felt his breathing get away from him again as the horror of his situation dawned on him. He fought it, compressing his chest and clenching his lips to control the panic. He wouldn't allow himself the weakness — he just couldn't. Not in front of his friends...his team. Grissom. Never in front of Grissom.

As the pounding in his ears subsided again he began to make out the outraged cries of his teammates. He wanted to tell them he'd be okay, though he didn't believe it himself. He said nothing, instead focusing on the man still crouched over him. He was staring off into space, just as before. It didn't seem like he could hold his attention for long, and the team's presence didn't even penetrate the man's awareness. Greg tore his eyes away finally, not wanting to even give the man a face. What good would it do? There didn't seem to be a way out of here. All attempts by the others to get a response out of him had been met with stony indifference. The distance between the syringe and his arm was growing shorter by the second. Greg glanced at his teammates and sought out one face. He memorized its set - the tight line of the lips the only sign he was perturbed. He would never let those kind eyes down. Greg would be...resolute. Man of iron. Yes, even if he died. He would give a stoic last stand, for himself if anyone. So when the man finally snapped out of his trance and brought the syringe down to its final destination, Greg was ready. He closed his eyes and imagined himself anywhere but there.

"Hey, you can't do that!" shouted Warrick, jumping up and banging a fist on the cell bars.

"Bastard!" cried Nick, hands balled into fists at his sides.

They all knew the effects of such a dangerous chemical; at best Greg would be in for a terrifying experience for the next twelve hours — at worst he would lose his mind and never recover — and the idea of watching helplessly as their friend suffered through it was more than they could bear. Sara covered her mouth with one hand, biting back a retort. There was nothing she could do but watch, and speaking might only aggravate the man more.

"What do you hope to accomplish by this?" asked Grissom. Of all of them, only he could keep his composure so far, mouth set in a tight hard line the only sign that he was furious.

"Please, don't do this," pleaded Catherine. "Whatever it is you want, you'll get it. Just..don't...do this."

The man ignored them, bending down instead and grabbing Greg's arm in a vice-like grip. Warrick and Nick could only stare in horror. It was really happening.

"You CSIs..you have no idea what the victims feel," muttered the man. "We'll see how you feel when someone you care about is tortured."

Sara made a small sound in the back of her throat, a sob she tried to conceal, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene any more than the rest of them. As the man brought the syringe closer to Greg's arm, he shut his eyes tighter, his entire body clenching for the impending doom. Only belatedly did he realize that it would probably make the needle more painful as it went in. A sound like a groan escaped his partly open lips, and they could tell he was terrified, though he was trying so hard not to show it. The needle touched Greg's arm at the crook of his elbow and he jerked as if struck. The bastard couldn't actually go through with this, could he?

"Please don't do this," pleaded Catherine one last time. "If you have any compassion—"

"Compassion?" snarled the man, turning to stare at her, needle waving in the air. A drop of liquid gathered at the head of the syringe, deadly and terrifying. "It's you who have no compassion! You care nothing for people's lives! You let murderers and rapists go; now you'll know how it feels!"

"Greg's not a murderer!" cried Warrick.

"We can only deal with evidence," argued Grissom, standing at the bars and staring the man down. "If we have no evidence we can't do anything. Think about what you're about to do!"

"If you do this you'll be the same as those people," said Catherine, clutching the metal bars desperately.

The man shook his head as if trying to clear it and turned back to Greg, who was breathing heavily through his nose. His body was still clenched in fear of what would soon happen.

"There...there was plenty of evidence," muttered the man haltingly. "Shut up! I won't kill him..just...teach you a lesson."

Solidifying his resolve, the man continued his action, pinning Greg's arm down and bringing the needle to his skin on the inside crook of his elbow. Greg thrashed desperately, but the man pressed inexorably and the needle slid through his skin like butter. Greg's back arched and he moaned under his breath. The others could only watch, mesmerized, as the syringe emptied. Greg's eyes opened wide in shock to stare up at the ceiling, his body quivering, hands clenched into fists and tears collecting behind his lashes. The man withdrew the needle when it was empty and straightened.

"I'm sure you'll begin to feel the effects soon. It amplifies pain receptors so that even a pinprick will feel like you're being stabbed," he said with relish. "Hallucinations and—"

"—a loss of physical and mental control," gasped Greg through gritted teeth. He was obviously already struggling with his body, but his eyes bored into the man.

"Excellent. So you know," responded the man, stepping over Greg and towards the door. "Enjoy."

As the metal door clanged shut Greg closed his eyes in despair.

"Greg, listen to me," said Grissom, voice soothing. "You'll be fine, you hear me?"

Greg nodded mutely, not opening his eyes. He knew, as they all did, that it was an untruth — he wouldn't be fine, not with BZ gas running through his veins. But what could they do except lie?

"Hang in there, Greg," said Nick, trying to keep his voice confident. "We'll find a way to get out of here."

They exchanged glances with one another at the improbability of the statement, but were soon focused back on Greg. They could see the effects of the chemical starting. Greg's breathing quickened and his face flushed. He groaned and his eyes finally flickered open; they travelled the room wildly as if it was filled with monsters. The team stood at the bars of their cell, faces peeking through spaces between the bars at their suffering friend.

"Greg," whispered Grissom. "Greg!" he said more loudly.

Greg turned his head slightly, with difficulty. He was beginning to lose it, he knew. They could all see it. The wild eyes and flushed skin were outward signs of the collapse happening within.

Seeking out Grissom's face, though it was wavering so badly he could hardly keep it in his line of vision, Greg tried to imprint that face in his mind forever. It moved in slow motion, mouth making movements that only later registered as sound. His words were muffled, yet had an echoing quality — they scared him, though he didn't know why. He groaned in fear, trying to get away from the evil face.

"You can't get through to him, Gris," said Nick sadly, putting a hand on Grissom's shoulder. "It's started."

Greg felt like he was being incinerated. Every fibre in his body hummed with energy, every beat of his heart reverberated through his limbs and back again as an even more painful thump. Greg tried to thrash, but the shackles binding his wrists and legs prevented him from moving. Worse were his eyes — they stared into space in terror, seeing something the rest of them couldn't, but from his reaction they could guess at the idea. He became more and more agitated when Grissom spoke, eyes staring at him but obviously seeing or hearing something else. Greg shuddered violently at the sound of the door opening again, and the team's attention immediately snapped to the man who'd entered. He was carrying a coiled whip under one arm.

"Isn't he suffering enough for you?" cried Sara desperately, knowing what was coming. "Don't do this!"

"Leave him alone!"

"We've learned our lesson!"

"Please!"

They clamored at the man from behind the partition, but he ignored their words and continued walking towards Greg's feet, unfurling the whip as he went. It hung loosely in his grip, swishing back and forth ominously.

"None of you have suffered remotely enough," started the man, tightening his grip on the whip's handle and starting its circular motion through the air.

Greg couldn't keep his eyes off the slowly revolving length of rawhide, though what he saw tended to morph into strange swirls and hissing snakes. But he could recognize the threat, even through his drug-induced haze. Oh, the threat was real. He broke out in a sweat, heart thumping painfully in his ears.

"No," he whispered in panic as the whip came up suddenly, then whistling shrilly through the air towards his body. It connected with a sickening crack heard throughout the room, and his body jerked against his restraints, even as he cried out in pain.

Nick smashed his palm against the bars, hanging his head and squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. The sound of the whip reverberated in his mind, punctuated by Greg's pitiful groans. He couldn't watch — but he couldn't not watch either.

The man was crazed. His entire body was thrown behind the whip's action, and he showed no mercy. Oblivious to the shouts and cries he heard, all the man saw was the victim on the floor, victim and attacker all in one. They must be punished.


	4. Chapter 4

It wouldn't stop. Every additional hit sapped him of any remaining energy he had, what there was. But Greg was so far gone, so enclosed in his head, that they barely registered. It was his mind that needed the help. The ceiling tilted constantly with demonic faces protruding then sliding back in. Vaguely, if Greg could have had the faculty to look at his situation objectively, he would know that he was doing far more damage to himself with his struggles than anything else. His wrists were bloody from where he was constantly tugging at his restraints. If he had been free to move, he would be crawling the walls by now, so frightening were his visions. Then, too, were the jagged, stinging, burning cuts that covered his body from the whipping. It had stopped for now, but the respite did not spare Greg from the agony that still coursed through his body. Sweat trickled down his forehead, igniting fiery pain as drops came into contact with a bleeding gash that extended from his nose to his chin. His nose was definitely broken, a stinging crackle from the whip combining with the snap of cartilage, but Greg had barely registered the physical assault, for in front of his eyes the whip had become a gibbering mass of entrails that became bloodier and bloodier until he could taste the tang of iron. But it was his own blood, that he tasted as he bit his lip to keep from screaming. He let out a whimper, muscles still unnaturally shuddering.

"We have to do something!" cried Sara at Greg's whimper. She couldn't stand to see him like this anymore.

"The best way to help Greg is to find a way out of here," said Grissom, his voice kind but firm enough to gently pull her back from the abyss.

They explored every inch of their prison; reaching through the bars to see how far they could go, scraping at the cement that made up the walls, hoping it was weak enough in certain places, but it was no use. Grissom's glasses were unfortunately not strong enough to support the tumblers in the heavy lock, though Nick was still trying every which way. Their prison was a tightly built little bunker, and short of having the key it seemed nothing they could do would get them out.

Nick stopped eventually and crouched down, holding the bars loosely and pressing his forehead into the gap. He studied Greg's face intently, privately amazed at his friend's strength. He was fighting the good fight with every fibre of his being; although it seemed the battle had been lost, Nick knew Greg was still trying to deny the drug access to his mind and body. Nick sighed gently, trying not to alert Greg, but the man's eyes flicked over at the sound anyways. The drug seemed to heighten Greg's perception of sounds, or maybe he was just so wound up now that anything set him off. His eyes were white with suppressed fear, and every muscle of Greg's body was quivering with pent-up energy.

We'll get you out of this somehow, buddy, promised Nick silently, closing his eyes to stop the unsettling gaze.

"How long do you think we've been down here?" asked Sara. She'd given up her search as well and now sat slumped against a wall with knees drawn up to her chest. She stared at the floor, eyes distant.

"Dunno," sighed Warrick, glancing around for the hundredth time. There still wasn't anything in their prison that could tell them what time it was or where they were. They couldn't even be sure they were underground, though Warrick felt it in his gut. Still, no one could be sure. It could have been one or ten hours they'd spent down here, watching their friend suffer and listening to the rantings of a madman. A familiar bubble of rage rose in his stomach and fizzled up Warrick's insides. It just wasn't fair...

Dried blood was still splattered around Greg's body where it had dripped off the whip's tendrils, not to mention the walls and even the ceiling. Warrick's investigator instincts itched to collect them — but they would only prove what he and the rest of the team already knew. Greg's blood had been filling the room with its irony rusty smell for a while now, enough so that every time Warrick breathed too deeply his stomach flipped over in disgust.

Greg's shirt was beyond repair. Strips of fabric soaked in blood hung limply, sadly, off his slack torso. A periodic tremor caused the light pieces to flutter sadly. Every inch of skin not lacerated was slick with a film of sweat that Warrick knew was caused by the drug exciting his nervous system beyond its limits. Greg's breath came in quick gasps, yet he never seemed to have enough. Warrick sighed again, staring unhappily at the ceiling.

"This sucks," burst out Nick. The rest of them looked at him mutely. The cloying scent of blood and absence of activity had lulled them into a stupor they could hardly think through.

"Why him?" grunted Nick, finally putting into words what they were all thinking. Like so many times before they turned to stare at Greg. He didn't acknowledge their presence this time, staring at the ceiling with suffering eyes and seeing only God knew what demons.

"He's trying so hard," Nick continued, either unable to stop or unwilling to. He choked back emotion as a guttural moan reached their ears. Greg thrashed again.

"Why couldn't it be me?" cried Nick, slamming his palm against the bar closest to him forcefully and gripping it in a white-knuckled hold.

"We can't start asking ourselves that, Nick," warned Grissom firmly. "It will only serve to distract us, and it does a disservice to Greg."

"He's strong. He'll make it," murmured Catherine softly, only half believing her own words.

They fell back into silence.

"How long do you think the BZ will be in his system?" ventured Sara quietly. Her fists clenched tightly in her lap.

"It depends on his body, and on the dose he was given," replied Grissom. "Maybe only a few more hours, six at the least, maybe as long as twenty four. And then there's..."

"The permanent damage it can cause," finished Nick grimly.

Grissom nodded as they contemplated Greg's chances.

"We have to believe," said Sara firmly. "He's made it so far."

They nodded as one, unable to add anything to the hopefulness so they stared at Greg, eyes tracing every welt and lesion as if they could feel them personally.


	5. Chapter 5

The man had been pacing around Greg for a while now. Nonsensical as time was in their cell, they still felt it must have been a significant amount. Still, he seemed unsure of his next move. Greg was beyond caring; delirious in his mind he only groaned sometimes from behind clenched jaws.

"Just let us go, please," tried Nick again. He was thankful their pleas didn't anger the man, but neither did they have any effect on him. This was rapidly turning into a hostage negotiator's worst nightmare. The guy was losing it, hour by hour. There was just no rhyme or reason to his actions, and his refusing to listen to them or respond to their dialogue left them with no negotiating leverage. They could only react, and react badly at that.

"Please, at least let him go," pleaded Sara in tandem. Greg's breath hitched in his throat; the man had come into his line of vision and Greg was obviously terrified of his presence. Nick idly wondered if he consciously understood who it was, or if he just felt a primordial feeling of danger.

"He's the victim," muttered the man absently, staring into Greg's red-rimmed eyes. "He's the victim. Can't let him go. You see? He hasn't suffered enough."

"God, he's suffered enough!" cried Sara. A single tear found its way down her cheek before she could stop it with a rough sleeve.

"Take me instead!" thundered Nick. He jumped up and made his way to the front of the cage, standing directly in front of the man.

"No, Nick, don't!" Catherine grabbed his arm, but he just shrugged her hand off and stood defiantly.

"He's had enough, can't you see that? He doesn't even know what's going on anymore," grunted Nick. "Take me instead."

Warrick locked eyes with Nick, assessing his willingness to go through with this. Though he couldn't stand the thought of watching his best friend end up like Greg, he also knew Nick well enough to know he would do anything to prevent more harm to Greg. Warrick gave him a resigned nod. One more minute of this, and he would probably be doing the same thing, anyways.

"No, no, you don't see." The man stared fixedly at Nick, now. He pointed to Greg. "This man...is the one. He's the victim here. You have to see...You all have to understand."

Nick shook his head and stepped closer to the bars. "Just take me, please."

"No!" The man made a twitchy motion with his arm, indecisive, then plunged it into his jacket. He pulled out a switchblade and flicked it open. Nick flinched at the steely sound the blade made as it swung open and stared in horror at its full length. It was almost as long as his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Please, just stop it!" They'd all jumped up at the sight, crowding the bars, desperation mingling with fear.

The man didn't listen to them. He shook his head, eyes crazed. "But you have to see. He's your friend. And soon you'll be the ones who have to deal with a victim — deal with the aftermath of a..an attack!" At this the man choked on his words and crumpled in on himself, sobbing brokenly.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to watch someone you care about destroying themselves before your eyes?" His head jerked up suddenly, eyes blazing with anger. "Well now you'll see! You let murderers and rapists go free to torture more people and leave the victims stuck in a never-ending hell!"

The man straightened, shaking with manic energy and waving the knife through the air wildly. "Now you'll have to deal with a victim!" He pointed the knife at Greg's body. Rage seemed to take over, and the man fell upon Greg's body with a fervor they didn't expect. The knife came down again and again, stabbing violently into Greg's unprotected flesh as they watched in horror. Down came the blade, slicing into his bicep and coming out again, slick and red with fresh blood. Head thrown back in shock, Greg let out a scream of agony Nick hoped never to hear again in his life. Tears streamed from their eyes, but they couldn't look away from the scene.

The man hunched over Greg, on his knees, throwing his whole body into the stabbing motions. Incoherent sobbing blubbered from his lips.

"You let them go! Go free! She couldn't take it! Now you'll know! Now...you know."

"STOP IT!" shrieked Sara finally. She had lunged forward, hands scrabbling on the cement floor. "He's going to die!"

The spell was broken, and the man stopped, draped over Greg. Ragged sobbing filled the room from both sides of the barricade. Nick desperately searched Greg's face for signs that he was alive, but there was nothing there. He stared vacantly into space, eyes outlined by the track marks his tears had made in his bloody face. And though Nick didn't want to even think about it, he couldn't possibly imagine how Greg could have survived such a brutal attack. Blood flowed out of the many stab wounds on his arms and torso, an especially large and mangled hole decorating his lower abdomen. The floor around him was a puddle of crimson and he rose out of it like a besieged island.

"You sick son of a bitch..." muttered Warrick in disbelief as he stared at the man through bars. He trembled at the damage. It was shocking, and all the more horrifying because there was nothing they could do but watch Greg's life trickle away into the cracks in the cement floor.

The man regained his composure and stood up slowly, knife still gripped in his right hand. He stared down at Greg, then at the team glowering at him.

"Now you'll know," he said simply, eyes wide. After a minute he reached into another pocket and pulled out two keys, one large and heavy and the other small. He bent down and methodically unlocked the shackles holding Greg's arms and legs down. Greg didn't respond to his own freedom — his eyes were still staring off into space but Nick could tell that he wasn't really there. Fear gripped his heart. They were, inexplicably, astoundingly, so close to freedom, but Greg might already be dead.

Please be ok, Nick muttered the mantra under his breath.

The rest of the team held their breath in anticipation. Could he actually, possibly let them go? Maybe he felt they'd learned their lesson enough, and he would just let them go.

Just let us go! The thought reverberated through their minds. The man clutched the little key tightly in his hand. He was going to do it! He stepped forward. He was going to unlock the door and set them free... His hand opened, and the key fell out; down and right into the palm of Greg's outstretched hand. It was unresponsive, and suddenly their chances seemed destroyed. Greg was firmly out of reach!

Nick glared in fury at the man. He was usually pretty good at guessing a criminal's motives, but this went beyond the realms of reason. Or at least, his thought process was incomprehensible to Nick. He seemed bent on causing pain to Greg, or just people in general for crimes his team supposedly committed; Nick couldn't figure it out. He stuck his arm through the bars, trying to reach the man. The man stared at his grasping fingers with detached interest. Nick almost wished he would take a swipe at them with the knife, just to get a response. He stepped back and withdrew his arm instead, worried that he would anger the man and he'd hurt Greg more. Could Greg even be hurt more? Nick didn't want to chance it.

The man's lips moved, and they inched closer to hear his words.

"Parker," he said slowly, staring at each of them pointedly with feverish intent. "Laura Parker."

"What does that mean?" asked Grissom, impossibly calm. "Who is that?"

The man shook his head, eyes wild. Nick twitched — he thought he saw something change in the man's face, something almost imperceptible but fatally dangerous. Before he could utter a sound the man had stepped back and pressed himself against the farthest wall of the room, jerking his arm up to his neck. They cried out, but it was too late. He pushed the blade deep into his jugular and made a slashing motion forward. Fine red mist showered them before his head slumped forward over the bloody gash, unable to support itself. Blood slowly leaked out over his chest, down the side of his body as he fell into a sitting position and finally came to rest on his side. His eyes stared at the ceiling, hauntingly mimicking Greg's pose.

Oh God, Greg! Now they might never get out, and Greg... With his final heinous act, the man had put the means to their salvation so close, yet so far out of reach.

"No! Goddamn him!" shouted Sara. Warrick crouched at the bars, hand extended as far as it would go, but it wasn't far enough to reach the little key.

"Greg..." murmured Catherine bleakly. "Greg's going to die if we don't do something." She turned to Grissom, who was still standing in shock and staring at the dead man just feet from them.

She could guess why a troubled look was etched on his face. Grissom hated an unsolved mystery. More importantly, the thought of his young coworker dying because of his failure to solve that mystery was a cross he wasn't equipped to handle. He turned to Catherine, shaking his head as if refusing to believe it. The rest turned to stare at him expectantly.

"He won't die," he said, numbly.

"What do you mean Grissom?" Sara sighed. "We're all going to die if we aren't found."

Grissom turned back to look at Greg, who through all the shouting had scarcely batted an eye, and who looked so deathly still it seemed a lost cause already. It can't be, don't let it be, cried Nick in the recesses of his mind.

Grissom moved towards the bars as if in a trance, and after exchanging worried glances with one another they parted to let him pass. He dropped to his knees facing Greg, just as Warrick had.

"Greg," he whispered. "Greg listen to me..."

There was no answer, just as before. He'd lost so much blood already, Nick wasn't surprised he couldn't respond. But still, he didn't give up — couldn't give up. He still believed Greg wasn't gone, though his body was in stark defiance to Nick's hope. Some of the blood had begun congealing on top of the other scabs and ruptured flesh, some so deep that Nick knew he would have the scars forever.

Sara moved to stand beside Grissom as he talked in a low voice to Greg. She lowered herself to her knees slowly, watching Greg sadly. When Grissom's voice had fallen away, she leaned forward to put her face against the bars.

"Hey Greg," she murmured quietly, almost conversationally. "It's me, Sara." Her voice dropped off. She didn't exactly know why she felt compelled to speak to him, especially not now that it seemed a lost cause.

"You know you were always the best...everything," she said haltingly. "We all think so, you know, even if we don't say it enough." She sighed and tapped the bars with one finger. In addition to their worry for their friend, and the cloying smell of dried blood that was making their stomachs turn, they also hadn't eaten for at least 12 hours now. It was making her lightheaded, and those thoughts she'd had so many of before were coming sluggishly now.

"Please, Greg, don't leave us now," she whispered.

At first she thought it was a mirage; a hallucination brought about by her fatigue and anxiety, but there it was again. And it was real. Greg's fingers twitched ever so slightly. Painfully, agonizingly slowly, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes opened a crack.

Sara started, a shout hovering on her lips, but the team had already seen and needed no further encouragement. They crowded the bars around her, staring intently at Greg. His fingers twitched, almost imperceptibly, a flash of metal catching their eye as his precious burden moved into focus.

"Greg, can you hear us?" said Nick loudly.

"Throw us the key, Greg," called Catherine, more urgently. They didn't know how long he would be coherent. They weren't sure if he'd heard them, but his hand tightened around the object and his eyes opened fully. They shut tight immediately.

"It's okay Greg, we won't hurt you," said Grissom, softly reassuring. "He's probably still suffering from the aftereffects of the gas," he said to the rest of them. They stared back at Greg. He was beginning to rise, improbably, slowly and painfully gathering his body underneath him. Blood began to seep from his wounds again and he gasped, clutching at his stomach. He was shuddering visibly now, hunched over but standing.

"Greg, don't do this!" cried Sara. "Stop it, lie down!"

"Just throw us the key, Greg!" begged Nick.

But the yelling only agitated Greg more, and he turned with haunted eyes, trying to pinpoint the cause of the noises. Blood seeped through his fingers as they gripped his stomach, and he was clearly losing energy. He staggered forward, other hand still firmly grasping the key; holding it as if it was a lifeline. Their arms reached out through the bars, guiding him as much as they could. But he was seeing something else.

Greg trembled violently before taking one final step, wavering on his feet. Tears coursed down his cheeks, but they didn't need that reminder of his pain. They could see the intolerable agony written all over his face, though somehow he was overcoming it. They couldn't believe he was still fighting, still up after all that. Greg collapsed finally, in front of them, inches from their their comforting hands. He seemed to be lucid as he stared straight at Grissom and grimaced, trying to speak, but only bloody spittle came out. Grissom reached his hand out and put it on Greg's forehead. The gesture calmed him; enough so that he could make a sound through his gritted teeth.

"Grissom," he sighed, a single tear making its way down his ravaged face. "Griss..." His eyes closed, hand going limp over his abdomen.

"Damnit!" shouted Nick, banging the bars with a fist one last time.

"There's no time for that now, Nick," said Grissom, a business-like tone taking over after a moment of shocked silence. He carefully pried open Greg's clenched fingers, tender in avoiding the bleeding wounds, as they all watched impatiently. The key was covered in grime and blood, but they looked at it like a jewel. Grissom rose and reached through the bars. They all held their breath in anticipation. What if it didn't work? What if the sick bastard had wanted to torture them one last time? But the key slid into the lock smoothly, and their hearts jumped when they heard a click. The door swung open easily, and for a minute they didn't even know what to do. It seemed surreal that their freedom lay so close. But there it was, and it only took them a moment to see Greg's wasted form on the ground in front of them to remind them that time was of the essence. Sara and Catherine fell to their knees beside his body, leaning close to feel for breathing.

"Go!" shouted Sara, motioning to the door. "We'll stay here!"

Nick and Warrick nodded and sprinted for the door.

Sara motioned to Grissom. "Help us wrap his arms."

They were tearing strips off their clothing to make makeshift bandages, pressing down hard on the open wounds, those mad gashes in his abdomen's from the man's crazy attack, willing the blood flow to stop. Greg didn't react to the stimuli, though the pain should have been excruciating. It felt like an eternity until they finally heard sirens coming through the open door. Nick and Warrick came running back into the room breathlessly.

"You'll never guess where we are," panted Nick.

"Medics are on their way," added Warrick. "We found a pay phone—"

"I don't care where we are," snapped Sara. "I just want to get Greg to a hospital as soon as possible."

Nick and Warrick nodded soberly. "Sorry. They'll be here in a minute."

"I'm not sure we have that long," said Grissom softly.

"Don't say that, Gris," sighed Catherine.

He pursed his lips tightly, unwilling to say out loud what they all feared.

"Jesus," breathed Nick, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. He and Warrick had returned quickly, but even the brief time they'd spent outside had erased a little bit of memory, so that stepping back into the room was like seeing it for the first time. Blood dripped down from all four walls, even the ceiling, no doubt castoff from the whip lying forgotten in a corner. The pool of blood in the centre had grown, creating a sticky, grimy mess that emitted a sickening smell. It was so pungent they had to stop, leaning against the doorframe to keep the nausea controlled. Warrick coughed into his fist, mind reeling at the room's impact. Nick stared in horror at the sight of Greg, lying on the ground surrounded by his own blood. He breathed deeply, nostrils flaring as he tried to control himself with difficulty. He glanced at the crumpled form of their kidnapper. The idea that this one man could have administered such pain to Greg made him livid. All they could do now was try to help Greg through the healing process. If he survived. Nick raised his eyes heavenward, using all his strength to pray for Greg.

* * *

><p><strong>an - So here we are! I have to write the rest of this now (well, parts of it are written, but not all) so it's going to be a little longer than usual. I know that it will be three more chapters for sure. The next chapter will be a wrap-up scene, and then two more chapters will be a split ending. I will post them both at once, so you can choose which to read - I am giving fair warning now. In the first ending Greg will live, in the second he will DIE. I'll try to be as quick as possible with the updates.**


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